I Want To Be Stronger.

Dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and gold as Varek stood at the edge of the village, his breath steady, his mind resolute. The morning chill bit at his skin, but he welcomed it—it kept him awake, focused.

Today, he would push himself further.

Thalion's voice cut through the quiet. "You're up early again. Good. That means you're ready."

Varek turned to see his father approaching, a worn practice blade in hand. Aeliana watched from the doorway, her gaze filled with quiet worry. The weight of their expectations rested on him, but he refused to falter.

"No hesitation," Thalion said, tossing the blade to him. "Show me what you've learned."

Varek caught the blade, adjusting his stance. His grip was firm, but his hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from excitement. Training with his father was different from his usual practice alone. It was more than just swings and footwork; it was about proving himself.

They circled each other, measuring their distance. Thalion struck first, his movements swift and precise. Varek barely dodged in time, feeling the rush of air as the blade passed close. His muscles burned with effort as he countered, forcing his father back a step.

"Better," Thalion noted. "But you're still holding back. Again."

Varek gritted his teeth and attacked, his strikes growing sharper, faster. He was determined to match his father's speed, to prove that he was more than just a boy with a Bronze Vault. Each clash of their blades echoed through the village, drawing the attention of a few early risers.

The spar continued until Varek's arms ached and sweat dripped from his brow. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he refused to stop. He had to keep going. He had to become stronger.

Finally, Thalion lowered his blade, signaling the end of their session. "You have potential, Varek. But potential means nothing without effort. Train harder."

Varek nodded, wiping his forehead. He wasn't satisfied with his performance, but he wouldn't give up. He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the world stretched far beyond their humble village.

He would surpass his limits. That thought burned in his mind long after the sparring session had ended.

Varek sat beneath the shade of an old oak tree, his fingers tracing the grooves of his practice blade. The dull edge bore the marks of countless training sessions, a testament to his determination. His father's words echoed in his head—potential means nothing without effort.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused inward. He could feel the faint pulse of mana from his Vault, weak yet persistent. It wasn't much, but it was his. And he would make it stronger.

A rustling sound broke his concentration. He opened his eyes to see his mother approaching, a small wooden bowl in her hands. "You shouldn't push yourself too hard, Varek. Training is important, but so is resting."

She sat beside him, handing him the bowl. The scent of warm stew filled the air. "Eat," she urged gently. "You won't grow strong on willpower alone."

Varek hesitated, then accepted the meal with a nod. As he ate, Aeliana watched him with a mixture of pride and concern. "Your father trains you hard, but he only wants you to be prepared for what's ahead. The world beyond this village isn't kind."

"I know," Varek said between bites. "That's why I have to be stronger."

Aeliana smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Strength isn't just about fighting, you know. It's also about knowing when to stand, when to fall, and when to rise again."

Varek listened, her words sinking deep into his heart. He wasn't just training to be strong—he was training to be someone who could protect, who could endure, who could carve his own path despite the limitations placed upon him.

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon by the time he finished his meal. Standing, he stretched his sore limbs and looked toward the practice field. His training wasn't over yet.

Varek took a deep breath, feeling the crisp evening air fill his lungs. The day had been grueling, but he knew that progress only came through persistence. His muscles ached, a dull reminder of the drills his father had put him through. Despite that, he clenched his fists, determination settling in his chest like a steady flame.

He walked toward the practice field, where the wooden dummies stood in the fading light. The echoes of his father's instructions rang in his ears as he steadied himself. He assumed a stance, feeling the mana flow from his Vault into his limbs. The sensation was still unfamiliar, but each session brought him closer to understanding it.

With a sharp exhale, he lunged forward, striking the dummy with precision. The impact sent a shudder through his arm, but he didn't stop. Again. And again. Each movement carved into his memory, each strike bringing him closer to control.

A sudden gust of wind made him pause. He turned, sensing something beyond the normal evening breeze. In the distance, a shadow moved at the edge of the practice field. His heartbeat quickened.

"Who's there?" he called out, his voice steady despite the unease creeping up his spine.

Silence.

Varek narrowed his eyes, stepping forward cautiously. He had been training for moments like this—when instinct outweighed doubt, when fear was nothing more than a hurdle to overcome.

The shadow shifted again, this time revealing a faint outline. Someone—or something—was watching him.

Varek's breath hitched as he steadied his stance. His fingers curled into fists, ready to summon the mana from his Vault if necessary. The training field was supposed to be empty, yet the presence before him told a different story.

"Show yourself," he commanded, his voice firm despite the growing unease gnawing at his gut.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with an eerie slowness, the figure stepped forward, its form partially concealed by the lingering twilight. A hood covered most of its face, but Varek could see the gleam of sharp eyes studying him.

"You're not afraid," the stranger observed, their voice smooth, almost amused.

Varek swallowed, forcing himself to hold his ground. "Depends on who—or what—you are."

The figure chuckled softly. "Cautious. Good. You'll need that."

Before Varek could react, a flicker of energy surged through the air. His instincts screamed at him to move, and he barely dodged as a thin arc of mana slashed through the spot where he had just stood.

Heart pounding, he raised his fists, his Vault humming in response. Whoever this person was, they weren't here for idle talk.

They were here to test him.

Varek tightened his stance, watching the stranger's movements carefully. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his muscles.

The stranger tilted their head, as if considering his question. "To see if you are worthy."

Without another word, they lunged. Varek barely had time to react before a burst of force sent him skidding backward. He gritted his teeth and steadied himself, his mana flaring instinctively in response.

This was no ordinary test—this was a battle, and Varek had no choice but to prove himself.

He steadied his breathing, feeling the energy of his Vault stir within him. The shadowy figure watching him made no move, but the weight of its gaze pressed against his chest like an unspoken challenge.

Then, without warning, it attacked.

A blur of darkness surged forward, too fast for Varek to react. Instinct alone saved him as he barely dodged to the side, rolling across the dirt. A sharp gust of wind followed in the figure's wake, cutting through the air like a blade.

Varek pushed himself up, his muscles coiled with tension. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to focus. Whoever—or whatever—this was, they weren't holding back. If he hesitated, he would lose.

The figure struck again, this time aiming for his chest. Varek twisted his body, feeling the rush of air as the attack narrowly missed him. He countered with a burst of energy from his Vault, a golden shimmer escaping his fingertips. But the shadow dissipated before it could connect, reforming a few feet away.

"Good," a voice murmured from within the darkness. "You react well under pressure. But let's see how long you can last."

A chill ran down Varek's spine. This wasn't just about strength—it was about endurance, skill, and instinct. He tightened his fists, readying himself for whatever came next.

The real battle had only just begun.